Tough Enough

With only the occasional muted sound of Katie’s sobs to break the silence, I make the trip back across town to her house. After I park, I take the keys out of the ignition and go unlock her door before returning to scoop her out of the low seat and carry her inside.

I place her gently on the couch and turn to go close the door, but Katie’s words stop me. “Please don’t leave me,” she whispers brokenly.

I take three long steps toward the door, just enough to get me close enough to kick it shut before I return to the sofa. I lean down to draw her into my arms one more time, settling her on my lap with her head on my shoulder. Then I answer her. “I’m not going anywhere.”

With Katie cradled against me, we sit in silence, the only noise coming from the cat, who’s purring loudly from his perch on the back of the couch. My arm falls asleep long before Katie stops crying. I don’t know if it happens suddenly or if it just feels like it happens suddenly. Either way, it’s like one minute she’s shaking and the next minute she’s looking up at me from beneath her lashes.

I’m surprised by what I see when I look down at her. There’s fire in her eyes. Something like a rebellious anger maybe. I don’t ask questions, even though I want to. I just wait for her to speak. I let her set the pace.

Finally, she levers herself away from me, sliding her legs between mine until her feet touch the floor. I miss holding her the instant I no longer feel her warmth against me. I liked being close to someone who’s impossible to get close to. But I don’t tell her that. I just hold my tongue and wait.

Katie stands to her feet, clutching the shreds of her shirt around her as she backs slowly away from me. She stops when there’s about two feet separating us and she straightens. She looks like she’s bolstering herself. I can see her spine stiffen and her chin ratchet up a few notches. The difference is subtle, but it feels profound. Fierce. And I’m instantly curious about it. Gone is the timid girl who hides away behind downcast eyes and a swath of comforting hair. She’s been replaced by this bold, kind of ferocious woman standing in front of me.

Surprising the shit out of me, Katie lets the pieces of her shirt fall away. Bra, too. They dangle at her sides for a few seconds before she tears them off, almost viciously. She tosses them onto the floor with jerky movements. My mouth drops open as I take in the sight of her. Blue eyes flash hotly, lush lips thin into a determined line, chest swells beneath mouthwatering tits as she inhales deeply. She’s fiery. And beautiful. And I’ve never wanted anything more in my whole miserable life. I’ll never forget this either. I know that tonight is already full of images that will probably haunt me for a long time to come.

I can’t stop myself from looking at the rest of her, so proudly on display. Her breasts are creamy and bigger than I imagined, capped with delicately pink nipples that pucker toward the sky. Her stomach is flat, dipping in at the sides to give her a perfect hourglass shape that flares into her slim hips.

God, she’s amazing!

As I eat her up with my gaze, she shifts slightly, causing the light to glint off some less-than-smooth skin. My eyes focus on the pebbly texture that stretches from the left side of her neck down, grazing her shoulder and then disappearing until it picks up again below her ribs on the left side of her torso.

When she speaks, her voice is too hard for someone so breathtaking. “This is what I hide. This is what Ro

“But, Katie, I—”

“This is why you don’t want me. Not really. This is why I’ll never be the girl for you. You just didn’t know it.” With her pause, she sticks out her chest in defiance. “But now you do.”

It’s obvious she’s trying to push me away. I just don’t understand why. I’m frowning when my eyes drift back up to hers, which are spitting fire. “You couldn’t be more wrong,” I tell her softly. She’s more wrong than she could ever know. This doesn’t make her any less perfect. It just makes her more fragile. If anything, I’m drawn to her in a totally different way. Something fiercely protective rises up inside me, something that rivals the way I felt at the lake a little while ago.

I have to know what happened to her. I have to know about her past. I have to know how she was hurt so badly.

I rise slowly to my feet and step closer to her, brushing over the bumpy skin with the tips of my fingers. I know it doesn’t hurt her anymore. Scars don’t have feeling. They’re numb, thankfully. But I also know that some hurts run so deep they never heal. And I have a feeling this is one that goes all the way to her soul. “What happened? Who did this to you?”

Despite the way her eyes are flashing at me, I see her chin tremble. This is hard for her. Very hard, evidently. Maybe it’s the memories. Maybe it’s the fact that scars are often a thousand times uglier to the person wearing them. Or maybe it’s some other ghost I know nothing about.

“I had a different life before this one. And it involved a man a lot like you. He used his fists instead of words and he prized beauty above all else. He thought I was beautiful. Too beautiful. He was always jealous of something or someone else in my life. When I left him, he couldn’t take it. So he found me. And he set my car on fire. With me in it.” Her chin trembles and her voice cracks. “And then I wasn’t beautiful anymore.”

My stomach clenches. Like I’m doing crunches, but it’s involuntary. There are few people I’ve ever felt really co

Until I met her.

Until I met Katie.

My gut churns. Fury. Sadness. Determination. Defensiveness. Tenderness. And a thousand feelings I don’t have names for.

All I can think of, though, is that she didn’t deserve this. She didn’t deserve what it has done to her life.

As these thoughts run through my head, I’m staggered by the desire to take away her pain, to guard her from the shitty curveballs life has thrown her way. And from any more that could hurt her.

“He was an asshole and a fool if he thought anything could make you less desirable. Now you’re even more what I want.”

If I hadn’t been watching her so closely over the last few weeks, I’d never have seen the slight softening of her features. It’s practically undetectable. But not entirely.

“But why? Why me? Can’t you understand how ridiculous that sounds? Look at me! I’m scarred. Ugly. Men like you don’t do ugly.”

I move slowly, cautiously. I uncurl fingers I wasn’t even aware of drawing into fists, and I reach for her again. I brush away the hair that wants to fall back over her shoulder, like she’s trained it to cover her. I bend to press my lips to the curve of her neck, to the scars that have haunted her for so long. “This doesn’t make you less,” I tell her softly. “It makes you more. More beautiful, more desirable. It makes you a survivor. A wi

I move to nuzzle the soft space beneath her ear, gratified by the subtle change in her breathing. It turns from a heave to a sigh as she leans into me just a few centimeters. But a few centimeters is enough. It’s enough to assure me that I’m reading her right. Despite what has happened, despite the turmoil of the day, she wants me. Like I want her. She cares what I think. She might not want to, but she does. And that’s good. Because I care, too. Maybe more than I should, especially for a girl who wants nothing except to push people away.